


The Steps Between You And I

by nereidee (aurasama)



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M, Post-Game, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurasama/pseuds/nereidee
Summary: Two years after the Bahamut, Rabanastre is busy preparing to celebrate the first year anniversary of Queen Ashe's coronation. Vaan hasn't heard from Balthier after their brief rendezvous in Rozarria. Just as he's started accepting that the bonds of their past companionship are all but severed, he runs into a familiar face in the celebrating city, and old feelings come back in a rush.Written for BalVaan Week 2020, day 1: Reunited.
Relationships: Balthier/Vaan (Ivalice Alliance)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19
Collections: BalVaan Week





	The Steps Between You And I

They couldn't ask for a more perfect day for the celebrations. The sun shines from a near-cloudless sky and for once the breeze feels refreshing, even cool, and Vaan sighs as he discards the shirt and the waistcoat on an empty chair. The past week has been warm and humid, something that his new sky pirate's wardrobe feels ill-suited for, and getting changed is a welcome relief.  
  
He's only just fastened his trousers when Penelo bursts in, already dressed up.  
  
“Hey, watch it,” he complains.  
  
“How are you not done yet? Your outfit's so much simpler than mine.”  
  
“Took me a moment to figure out the lacing in these,” Vaan grumbles. Penelo makes a face.  
  
The trousers are baggy and made of some light, airy material that feels comfortable in Rabanastre's climate. Penelo's are similar, but yellow instead of blue, paired with a top that has long, flowing sleeves and bared shoulders. There's jewelry around her neck and woven artfully into her braids. In Vaan's opinion she looks much more sensible than he does; all he has is a pair of trousers and sandals.  
  
Penelo circles around him, eyes narrowed critically, and spends a minute refastening the laces on his trousers.  
  
“I guess you'll do,” she says finally. She hands him a bundle of bright blue cloth, not unlike the one tied around her hips. “Don't forget your sash.”  
  
There's a knock on the door downstairs and someone calls, “Penelo!”  
  
“Come on, let's get going,” she ushers Vaan, and as one they pour out on the street where her dance troupe is already waiting. They're all wearing matching outfits. The streets are packed to a bursting point; so packed that they can barely squeeze past the bazaar stalls and the curious travellers. They hold hands just to make sure they don't get separated in the crowd.  
  
It gets steadily louder and louder as they get closer to the city square, and as they finally reach it Vaan can see why. Colourful banners hang all around from the surrounding buildings. Balconies are decked with flowering vines and cheering, clapping viewers. Vaan imagines that somewhere ahead Ashe, too, must be watching from the balcony of the Royal Palace, with Basch standing guard to her. Vaan wishes he could go see them. Ashe he's not seen for almost a year, not in person, but Basch makes time to visit them whenever they are back in town, even if it's just for a drink.  
  
It almost feels like a reunion, Vaan thinks, if not for their group missing two people. He pushes the thought away before it can burrow into his heart and start hurting again.  
  
The ground trembles as horns start blaring a festive tune and the procession starts moving. Vaan faintly recalls the princess' wedding parade from many years ago. Its the atmosphere of hope is present today, too, but this time he truly dares to believe it and get caught up in it. He finds himself smiling, and when he looks at Penelo she is smiling right back at him.  
  
The musicians end the song with a tremendous fanfare, and Penelo tugs at his hand.  
  
“That's our cue, come on!”  
  
Dancers flit into the space vacated by the procession and the audience erupts into cheers. Vaan tries not to feel too wrong-footed as he takes his spot in a row behind Penelo's. He unfolds the sash around his waist and lifts it above his head just like the other dancers. His eyes close and he inhales slowly, and when the drummers and flautists start playing they all begin moving simultaneously. The music has a soothing effect on him. Right from the first notes his breathing eases, his restless mind quitting its racing for once. He doesn't need to think. Every movement, every step is ingrained into his muscle memory from a young age, and once the horns start blaring their ranks break and people of all races rush to join the dance from the crowd.  
  
This is what Dalmascan dance is at its best – made to unite them, to be enjoyed together as one people though the steps vary between races. Few are the people who remain watching from the sidelines instead of joining the dance, and Vaan soon loses count on how many humes, seeq, viera and bangaa he shares his steps with. He's always moving on to the music, always ready to take the hand of a new partner until it's time to part ways and continue to the next one.  
  
The crowd is a blur around him. Lords and ladies clap on the balconies, children throw flowers and confetti. Vaan thinks he sees Migelo clapping in the shade, and on the steps lounges Kytes with a bunch of other children whose faces Vaan cannot see from the group of bangaa dancing next to him. He takes the hand of one of Penelo's friends, throws the sash in the air, then twirls around towards the next dancer.  
  
He sees a familiar-looking figure from the corner of his eye just as he turns around. He ignores the out-reached hand of an incoming dancer and whips around, eyes wide as saucers. Yes, there. Lounging against the wall not too far away from Migelo, and Vaan fumbles with his steps, mouth going dry.  
  
It can't be.  
  
It is.  
  
Balthier.  
  
He stands there watching the dance among the other bystanders like he's always been there. Suddenly, Penelo is behind Vaan again with a twirl of her dress. She seems to be one step ahead of him as usual, for she nudges Vaan in the ribs and says, “get going.”  
  
“Is that—“  
  
“Just go already!”  
  
“When did he show up?” Vaan shouts, but Penelo only gives him a shove in Balthier's direction as an answer. He nearly loses his balance, then corrects himself hastily to continue the dance, as though there had been no interruption. Vaan tilts his head and takes the hand of the nearest seeq, another spin slowly carrying him in the vague direction of Balthier. He goes through the motions in a daze, hips swaying to the beat of the drums, and it's only muscle memory that keeps him moving.  
  
How long has Balthier been standing there? Why is he here? Did Penelo know he was gonna come? Vaan recalls the messages he sent to the Strahl many moons ago, each of them going unanswered, and all the nights he sat sleepless in the pilot's seat, hoping against hope to hear from Balthier and Fran until accepting his fate. It's not unexpected. They were a bunch of strangers thrown together by the whims of the Fates to aid Ashe in her pilgrimage and nothing more. Vaan knows this, yet the silence still stung, and seeing Balthier again stings even more. Vaan's head swivels around as he turns to the music, momentarily finding him again just to make sure he's still there, that he's real.  
  
Vaan lets go of the other dancer's hand, spins around, and finds himself face to face with someone much taller than himself. His heart thuds faster as he recognises her. Fran. Her movements are fluid and perfect as if she, too, knows them by heart. She's dressed in the same long, flowing fabrics as the other viera, and Vaan's mouth curls into a smile at the sight of her.  
  
“Good to see you guys,” he shouts over the music. She returns his smile, much to Vaan's amazement. They share a few steps, hands touching briefly before parting again, the dance carrying them further towards new faces, new partners. Vaan steals another glance at Balthier. He's just watching, and his face is so familiar that it sucks all air out of Vaan's lungs.  
  
Balthier is looking his way, a lazy smile playing on his lips, and Vaan thinks their eyes meet, just for a second. Vaan doesn't know how he keeps dancing when he can't seem to remember which way is up. It all comes back in a crash – the longing, the sleepless nights, all the wishful thinking he's kept buried these past two years. He aches to hear Balthier's voice and have him make light on the silence between them until Vaan's laughing with him, until they're falling back into their usual banter and melting away the distance that has grown between them. He aches, aches with something more than longing. Balthier, alive, smiling, with less than fifty feet and a crowd of dancers between him and Vaan. Vaan finds his feet moving on their own and making their way towards Balthier before he can stop to think.  
  
_I just wanna hear his voice,_ he thinks, _I just wanna talk to him. I just…_  
  
Deep down, though, Vaan knows that 'just' does not even begin to describe what he wants right now.  
  


* * *

  
Dalmascan music has infectious quality to it, and Balthier can't help but drink in the sight of Vaan dancing in a sea of yellow, white and turquoise. He keeps popping in and out of view, his flaxen hair brilliant in the afternoon sun.  
  
Vaan's grown, obviously, and he's even more perfect that Balthier remembers. All golden, sun-kissed skin and eyes somewhere between the shifting gold as the Estersand and the sandstorms of the Westersand. His lips curl with an all-too knowing smirk as he at last notices Balthier, and he hopes Vaan reads the adoration on his face for what it is.  
  
_Who knew he could dance like that,_ Balthier wonders.  
  
The streets are packed, but then again they knew to expect it. The people of Dalmasca have had too few occasions for genuine celebration in the past years, and after reclaiming their independence they seem eager to take back the lost time. The party for Her Majesty's coronation anniversary has drawn folks of all races into the Royal City, and Balthier's ears catch pieces of conversation in dialects from every corner of Dalmasca.  
  
The drums beat faster and so does the dance. It's airy and full of sudden twists and turns that sends the dancers' flowing shawls aflutter. Each race seems to have its own variation of the steps; bangaa, seeq, hume and viera all mingle together seamlessly, touching hands, sharing smiles and steps each in their own way. Every now and then when the crowd thins Balthier even spots some moogles doing their own choreographies between the legs of the other dancers.  
  
Vaan spins into view again, much closer now, and his chest glistens with sweat. He laughs and with a curious little sway of his hips breaks away from Penelo. As his head turns Balthier thinks their eyes meet again for the shortest moment, and then Vaan is looking elsewhere already.  
  
The Fates be damned, Balthier's missed him. How he's wanted to see him in more than just the daydreams that he harbours before falling asleep at night.  
  
A gaggle of latecomers pushes past Balthier to squeeze past the dancers and towards the bazaar, obscuring his view. When the way clears he finds Vaan dancing only some ten feet from him. The drums pick up again and Vaan spins around, letting go of his current partner, and this time when he turns around Balthier knows for sure that he sees him.  
  
Vaan's lips are parted as though he wants to say something. For a heartbeat they simply look at each other. Then, Vaan steps closer with swaying hips and whips his shawl in the air so that it fans around him, the motion copied by a hundred other dancers in the crowd simultaneously. Sunlight catches in the fabric while Vaan stares at him, long and hard, and the complicated steps he takes in front of Balthier are an invitation, a beckon to join the dance. Balthier takes a step towards him, hand reaching out to grab the cloth mid-air.  
  
Vaan's eyes widen in surprise before he grins at Balthier, and with a tug pulls him in the crowd.  
  
“What took you so long?” Vaan shouts. “The dance's almost over.”  
  
Balthier smirks in answer. They take a step towards each other, then two steps back and back again. Another turn and Vaan ducks beneath the cloth still held firmly in their hands, the movement graceful and light. He moves like spirits of the air and Balthier only has eyes for him as he pulls him further into the crowd.  
  
The rhythm gets faster and around them other dancers have paired up, too. Two steps and they're almost shoulder to shoulder, two steps and they retreat again, moving in a circular pattern like orbiting one another. Vaan's movements are bold, almost suggestive. They never touch directly, but Balthier feels as warm as if they were doing the Rozarrian tango instead. He gives the cloth a yank as they approach each other again, pulling Vaan closer to him than is appropriate for the dance. It earns him another grin from Vaan.  
  
Music carries them across the square and all around them dancers hop around from partner to partner. Balthier glances at them from the corner of his eye and inclines his head, eyebrows raised quizzically, but Vaan only tightens his grip on the cloth and pushes him backwards towards the very centre of the crowd. Balthier lets him take the lead as they navigate past a group of lavishly dressed girls leaping from one to another. Their skirts billow in the breeze, skin and gold glistening in the sun.  
  
The crowd is a dizzying blur around them and no one pays them – the only pair with eyes only for each other – a second glance. They both duck reflexively as a length of translucent, sky-blue cloth flies in a arc above their heads, and Balthier thinks he sees Penelo's sun-bleached braids flash past them.  
  
The music ends with a dramatic, withdrawn drum solo and the crowd erupts into cheering and stomping. Vaan doubles over with hands on his knees as he catches his breath, but there's a wide smile on his face. Finally, he straightens, and Balthier hands the cloth back to him, which Vaan immediately ties around his hips like a sash.  
  
“I didn't know you could dance,” Balthier comments.  
  
“Hard not to pick up a few things growing up with Pen,” Vaan replies. He looks flushed, hair a sweaty mess, and Balthier guesses he himself must be the same; he can feel the sweat pouring down his forehead now that they're no longer moving.  
  
“You're not half bad yourself, y'know,” Vaan continues. “Not as good as me, of course, but good enough.”  
  
“Is that a challenge?”  
  
Vaan winks. “If you want it to be.”  
  
Balthier smiles. He feels like he's done nothing but ever since their arrival. There's no helping it; it's too good to see him. His voice has deepened a notch since their last meeting, but the Rabanastran lilt is unmistakeable in his speech all the same.  
  
The drummers initiate a new melody, quickly joined by a choir of flutes and horns. The crowd around them starts grouping up, excited for a new dance.  
  
Vaan makes a noncommittal gesture towards the general direction of the nearest shade.  
  
“I want a drink. Let's get out of here,” he says.  
  
“Pity,” Balthier quips, but follows him anyway. “And here I was hoping you'd demonstrate more of your superior dancing skills.”  
  
“Maybe later.” Vaan pauses. If he was flushed before, it's nothing to the colour that rises to his face now. “Somewhere quiet. In private.”  
  
And with that he takes Balthier's hand and kisses it almost coyly.  
  
“Thank you for the dance,” he says as he lets go.  
  
Balthier swears his hand tingles afterwards, and he only just manages to say, “I'll hold you to that promise about the private dance.”  
  
Vaan smiles so that his eyes crease.  
  
“You'd better.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know, the mental image of Balthier voluntarily dancing to folk music is hilarious. Can't say that wasn't one of my motivations for this fic. :P
> 
> I may have been listening to Dalmasca Estersand (Folk Music Arrangement) from the TZA soundtrack on repeat while writing this, so feel free to take that as inspiration for what the music in this story might sound like.


End file.
